


let me count the ways

by disdainfulAvenger



Series: let me count the ways [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfulAvenger/pseuds/disdainfulAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a spark between them – not a literal spark of electricity, no, but rather something unspoken and intangible, something that quickens the blood and sets fire to her skin when the Inquisitor’s hands touch her own, something Josephine has heard people speak of but never truly felt. Not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'How Do I Love Thee' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you like! <3

Herah Adaar is tall and broad-shouldered, her muscles strong and corded, yet despite her size she moves as gracefully and sleekly as a jungle cat. Her hair is stark white against the dark grey of her skin, her eyes a dancing shade of violet, and Josephine’s heart flutters a little the first time they clasp hands. There is a spark between them – not a literal spark of electricity, no, but rather something unspoken and intangible, something that quickens the blood and sets fire to her skin when the Inquisitor’s hands touch her own, something Josephine has heard people speak of but never truly felt. Not like this.

 _Oh, my_ , Josephine thinks, _but she is remarkable in a way that Leliana could not convey with words._ As for words, she manages to find some to speak, which is a considerable feat. She is not used to feeling this – this _taken aback_ by anything. “I am Josephine Montilyet,” she introduces, conscious of how Leliana watches the two of them with her keen gaze, “and I am to advise you in matters of diplomacy, Your Eminence.”

“I am Herah Adaar,” says the Inquisitor in reply, bowing down a little and raising Josephine’s hand to her lips, brushing them over Josephine’s knuckles ever-so-softly. She straightens up and fixes those brilliant eyes upon Josephine. “And you can call me by my name, not my title, Lady Montilyet.”

“Then I will extend the same offer to you,” Josephine says, her hand still held in Herah’s – the Inquisitor’s are calloused and scarred, hands that could easily kill a man, hands that could easily crush Josephine’s delicate fingers. But Herah holds her hand ever-so-gently, almost cradling it in her own.

“An excellent agreement,” says the Inquisitor, and her smile is bright and honest. “I trust your journey here was peaceful?”

“Relatively peaceful, yes.” There had been demons, but the soldiers and agents escorting Josephine had defeated them easily enough. “My escort was a capable band indeed.”

“That is good to hear,” Herah murmurs, her violet eyes captivating in a way Josephine has rarely encountered. “I fear our living quarters are somewhat dismal at present, but if you should need for anything, do not hesitate to tell me,” she continues. Leliana coughs from nearby. “Ah,” Herah Adaar says, glancing at the Left Hand of the Divine, “I have duties I must attend to.” She releases Josephine’s hand and rubs the back of her neck. “Cullen wished to speak with me, did he not?” she directs at Leliana.

“Yes,” says Leliana, “he did, and he will be waiting now, Your Eminence.”

Herah rolls her eyes then returns her gaze to Josephine. “My apologies,” she says, “but we will meet again later – perhaps at dinner, if you are not too tired?”

“I will be there,” Josephine promises.

“Excellent,” says the Inquisitor, “excellent.” Her smile brightens. “A pleasure to meet you, Josephine.” And then she is gone, slipping through the door gracefully, an imposing figure clad head to toe in tough leather armour.

There is silence for a moment, so Josephine turns to the remaining person in the room. There is a ghost of a smile upon Leliana’s face. “I have never seen her flirt before,” the redhead notes. “You seemed quite captivated.”

“You did not tell me she was like _that_ ,” Josephine says. She clasps her hands together. “You could have warned me,” she adds. “She was so – intense, I suppose. Yes, intense – the way she stared at me – she kissed my _hand._ Does she always do that? Did she do that to you? The others?” _Though I can hardly imagine her kissing Cassandra’s hand_ , she thinks. The Right Hand of the Divine – who she has seen only briefly – is a stern woman, and certainly does not seem as though she would accept Herah Adaar’s lips brushing over her knuckles. Josephine almost laughs.

“That,” says the Left Hand of the Divine, “is the longest Herah has gone without making a joke or jape of some kind. And no, she did not kiss my hand, and she is certainly not always like that. But you...she seems fond of you already.”

“Well,” Josephine says, searching for words, “I suppose that – that I find her charming and certainly interesting. Yes. Interesting.” She clears her throat.

“Look at you, stumbling over your words.” Leliana raises an eyebrow. “Where has your silver tongue gone?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lot longer than I first planned  
> leave a kudos if you like! find me on tumblr at disdainfulavenger.tumblr.com! <3

Skyhold is not – not in _ruins_ , per se, just rather a dismal state of repair. Cullen looks equal parts pleased and appalled as they ride through the great gate and into the courtyard. And Herah – the Inquisitor looks smug. “My own castle,” she says cheerfully. “I never dreamed of such a thing.”

“It is a fortress, and it belongs to the Inquisition,” Cassandra reminds.

“Which _I_ lead, therefor it is mine.” She grins. “I have come far indeed, to have my own fortress at my age.” Her voice echoes throughout the courtyard. “ _Look_ at it.”

And Skyhold is rather impressive, despite its crumbling walls and vast piles of rubble. The curtain wall is still mostly intact, and some battlements _do_ remain atop the wall (though Josephine is not entirely sure how). The courtyard is overgrown, with hundreds of weeds springing out from between mossy cobblestones. There seem to have been gardens at one stage, but these are now wildly out of control and choked thick with thorny bushes and shrubs. There are rotting doors and shutters and – oh Maker, those are the _stables_ over there. “I am sorry,” Josephine says to her mare, a sweet creature she has not yet named. The mare gives a resigned nicker in response.

They come to a halt before a pine that grows in the centre of the courtyard. Herah slips from her saddle, graceful as a cat, and comes over to hold the bridle of Josephine’s mare while the advisor dismounts. “Thank you,” Josephine says, and Herah smiles down at her, those violet eyes seeming more and more captivating every time Josephine meets them with her own.

“It is a pleasure,” Herah tells her, a light breeze ruffling strands of the white hair she wears unbound. “What do you think of Skyhold so far?”

Josephine looks around and notes the ivy that has spread across many walls of the fortress. “It is very green,” she says diplomatically, and Herah laughs cheerfully, her white teeth flashing.

“She will require some work, I think,” Herah admits, though she looks exceedingly pleased with the fortress already. “A great deal of work. The builders arrive tomorrow, which is excellent, but until then we will have to make do.”

They unsaddle their horses and hobble them near the stables. The water troughs outside are filled with fresh water – undoubtedly the result of recent rainfall – and so they leave their mounts there and head towards the main entrance of the fortress proper, walking up stone steps worn by both the elements and years of mortal activity.

The main hall is long, the drapes upon the walls dusty and moth-eaten – and even rotting, in some cases. Sunlight streams in through tall windows at the end of the room, glass panes shattered and cracked. A huge metal chandelier hangs overhead, home to a vast civilisation of spider webs.  Something squeaks and scurries across the floor, and without looking Josephine knows it is a rat. Cassandra’s lip curls. Herah beams.

They do not spend too long in the main hall. All of them are eager to explore the fortress further. They discover the kitchens and the cellars below, the servants’ quarters and the soldier’s barracks. Then, in another wing of the fortress, they find the library and the war room, dozens of private quarters, and a narrow staircase that leads up into one of the many ruined towers. One of the intact towers, however, is the rookery, which Leliana examines with a critical eye.

“I think,” Cassandra begins as they stand in the rookery, “that it may be a good idea to allocate quarters and the rooms we will require for our respective tasks.”

“Ah,” Herah says, “that is an excellent suggestion.” She glances at Leliana. “There is a suite of rooms directly below here – will you take them?”

“I will,” says the spymaster, and so the rookery and the rooms below it go to Leliana. They leave her to examine her new quarters in peace and to claim their own. Cassandra chooses a small but serviceable suite of rooms. Herah’s quarters are further down the corridor and have a large balcony that looks out onto the courtyard.

Josephine’s own quarters are located near the library and are not far from the war room. Her rooms are like all others in Skyhold – high ceilinged, rather dusty and definitely draughty, yet she has her own little balcony that faces the east to catch the rising sun, and she _does_ have some furniture. A rickety old desk, a small bed, a night-table, and a dismal bookcase with warped shelves. Already she is compiling a mental list of what she will require. A bigger desk, certainly, a chair or stool to sit on – something comfortable, given the long hours she spends seated – more bookcases, maps for reference, a small table and more chairs for private meetings with the Inquisitor.

 _Private meetings with the Inquisitor_ , she muses as she investigates the fireplace, which is filled with old coals and ash. There is a faint sound from somewhere within the fortress – a delighted cheer – which catches her attention, and seems to bear investigating. Josephine exits her room and heads towards the main hall, her footsteps echoing through dusty corridors. Leliana joins her along the way, brushing dirt from her gloves. “Do you find your rooms agreeable?” the spymaster asks.

“Certainly,” Josephine replies, “though as with the rest of the fortress, improvements can be made. What of your rooms?”

“I found the skeleton of a cat beneath my bed,” the spymaster tells her, “but besides that, they are agreeable. I think the others must be near the kitchens.”

They enter the main hall, and then head towards the kitchens, where they follow the sound of voices down a small corridor and into a previously unexplored part of the fortress. Ser Cullen exits a room carrying a crate in his arms, and upon seeing them he places it upon the ground and approaches the two other advisors.

“We have found a storeroom,” Ser Cullen explains, gesturing to the doorway behind him. “There is furniture within.”

“ _Tables_ ,” comes Herah’s voice, muffled and faint. “ _Chairs._ And – rats. More rats. Ugh.” There are footsteps and the Inquisitor appears, smears of dust across her cheeks. “I am glad,” she announces, “that we will not have to eat off the floor, for I have found plates and bowls and a great deal of cutlery.”

“And the crate?” Leliana asks.

“Cushions,” says Herah smugly. “And blankets.”

Herah and Cullen carry out a long trestle table and chairs to the main hall. Josephine makes herself at home in the kitchens, finding an iron kettle and scouring it clean with sand before filling it with water from the well in the overgrown kitchen gardens. She finds enough wood for a decent fire and soon enough she has the beginnings of a stew bubbling away in the kettle. Cassandra ventures into the wilderness of the kitchen gardens and returns with onions, potatoes and some squash. She helps Josephine clean and chop these new ingredients before moving on to cleaning plates and bowls. Cullen and Herah also venture into the kitchens, the two of them grimy and sweaty, and Josephine shoos them away with a wooden spoon. “Go and wash your faces and hands,” she tells them, “and stay away from the food till you do.”

Herah blinks mournfully. “Will it be ready soon?” she asks.

“Go and wash,” Josephine tells her firmly, and the Inquisitor just grins at her before leaving the kitchens with a bounce in her step. Josephine watches her go, marvelling at the Inquisitor’s energy – and the broad expanse of her shoulders, so strong and proud.

Cullen remains behind. “How does ale with supper sound?” he asks, tearing Josephine’s attention back to her stew. She stirs it before glancing up at him. “I found a cask in the cellars. It seems to be alright.”

“Ale sounds agreeable,” Cassandra says, and Josephine nods. “Have you seen Leliana?”

“She went to explore the gatehouse,” Cullen answers, and excuses himself from the kitchens so that he may wash.

Leliana returns from the gatehouse, having fed the horses along the way. Supper is an early affair, but they are all somewhat tired – save the Inquisitor, of course. Nonetheless the meal is cheerful, and afterwards they retire to their rooms. Someone – _Herah_ , Josephine guesses – has left two chairs outside her quarters, complete with cushions. She smiles and carries them inside.

After that, Josephine heats water over her fire and then scrubs herself clean, then dresses in a clean silk robe. She brushes the tangles from her damp hair and leaves it unbound so that it may dry. Then she begins to unpack the tools of her trade – quills and pens, inkwells and ribbons, wax that is ready to be melted for seals. There are books she has filled with her own knowledge of the politics of the various nations of Thedas – entire genealogies of noble families, records of key figures in royal courts, rumours and facts she has collected over the years, as well as some extraordinary and often unbelievable scandals. She wipes down the desk with a rag before setting out her instruments carefully, ordering missives and letters she had composed during the journey to Skyhold by order of importance. She completes six of them quickly enough and takes a little break, sitting back in her chair and stretching her neck.

Then there is a knock at her door, so Josephine pushes her chair back and goes to answer it.

The Inquisitor stands outside her room, a dusty bottle of wine in one hand, two crystal glasses in the other. “I hope I am not intruding,” Herah says, “but I found this bottle of wine and I knew I had to drink it with someone.” She glances down at the bottle and frowns. “It is rather old,” Herah continues, examining the bottle critically. “I don’t know how old. I don’t know if it will even be any good.” Then her violet eyes are fixed upon Josephine’s. “But what do you say, advisor mine? Shall we drink it?”

Josephine laughs. _How could I say no?_ “Come in,” she invites, stepping aside and watching as the strapping Inquisitor enters her room. “Take a seat by the desk.”

“You should never sit down before a lady does,” Herah tells her rather seriously, placing the bottle and glasses upon the desk. “Never. After you, my lady.”

Josephine regards the Inquisitor with a smile upon her face. “You are so very charming, you know,” she points out, closing the door and crossing the room. She takes a seat upon a chair and clasps her hands in her lap. “And I do believe we came to the agreement that we would dispense with the titles.”

“We did, didn’t we?” Herah uncorks the wine and lets it breathe. “Forgive me.” She takes a seat, crossing her long legs. “How long shall we let it breathe?”

“A quarter-hour is a good length of time,” Josephine suggests, and those fifteen minutes pass quickly. Herah is humorous and perceptive and talking to her is certainly easy, though sometimes those eyes and ready smile _do_ make Josephine’s tongue a little clumsy. Perhaps it is her imagination, but there are times when Herah stumbles over her words with a dark tinge to her cheeks. They discuss her past as a mercenary, then Josephine’s background as an ambassador in various royal courts across Thedas. Herah stands and pours the wine, offering the first glass to Josephine. Their fingers brush and there it is again, that fire sweeping across her skin and the quickening of her blood – she looks up to Herah, who stares down at her with captivated eyes and smiles so gently that Josephine cannot help but to smile back.

 _I wonder_ , she thinks, _if I am falling for you._ The answer is there, clear and simple – yes. She should feel silly for admitting this to herself, that she is falling for a woman she has only known for such a short amount of time, but she does not.

No, she does not.

“To the Inquisition,” Josephine toasts, after Herah has poured her own glass and taken a seat once more.

“To the Inquisition,” Herah echoes, and they tap the rims of their glasses together.

The wine is good. Antivan, certainly – she recognises the wines of her homeland as easily as names and faces. It is a deep, dark purple, with notes of berries and plum, and it pleases the senses.

But what is more pleasing, certainly, is that Herah Adaar sits across from her, and that they talk for hours, long after the last of the wine gone. They speak about a great many things – some trivial, some serious – yet it is the most pleasant of conversations with a most pleasant person. And every so often, Herah blushes a little when she takes too long to answer because her words do not always come so easily. They speak late into the night, Josephine weary no longer in the presence of the Inquisitor.

Soon, though, the Inquisitor takes her leave, and Josephine accompanies her out into the corridor. “Thank you,” Herah says, and she kisses Josephine’s hand again, her eyes twinkling. “That was a very enjoyable evening.”

“I thought so as well,” Josephine replies. “We shall have to do it again.”

Herah’s smile widens. “We will. Sleep well, Josephine.” Then the Inquisitor releases her hand and heads off to her own quarters, her footsteps exceedingly light for someone of her size.

And Josephine watches her go, unable to forget the feather-light brush of Herah’s lips over her knuckles, the gleam of those violet eyes, the easy curve of her smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kudos! <3

Over the following weeks, the Inquisition begins to take shape. People come, slowly at first and then almost every day, men and women of all races and backgrounds who have come to serve Herah Adaar. She is rattled at first; sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the chair she refuses to call a throne, accepting their vows of service almost haltingly. Josephine and the others watch on, the Hands of the Divine with stern and still faces, while Ser Cullen glances to Josephine and shares a smile with her. Cullen looks relieved.

Josephine is _proud_.

Yet not all those who join the Inquisition are to be agents or soldiers. They gain a master blacksmith and a quartermaster, a pair of men that spend most of their time arguing and insulting each other’s respective lineages. The head groom is a female elf who knows horses better than anyone Josephine has ever met: she calms Cassandra’s feisty stallion with a few words and a gentle hand, an act that has the Right Hand of the Divine nodding in approval. The head cook is a fearsome woman who wields a wooden spoon as one would wield a mace, but she seems to have a soft spot for Josephine, who too often quietly enters the kitchens late at night and asks for a pot of tea to soothe her headaches (increasingly common as her workload grows and grows). The cook always conjures a plate of sweet pastries for Josephine to take back to her rooms, and chides her for not sending a maid instead.  Josephine never does send a maid, and the head cook continues to ply the advisor with an unhealthy amount of pastries.

The builders, meanwhile, have been hard at work repairing crumbling walls and replacing rotten timbers. More and more sections of the fortress are revealed as they clear corridors and rooms of rubble. The stables are made functional once more, which Josephine’s mare certainly seems to appreciate. Window panes are replaced, curtains and tapestries are hung from walls and windows within the fortress. More furniture is retrieved from yet another newly-discovered storeroom – “it had skeletons inside,” Herah tells Josephine cheerfully, “very old skeletons. I think they were murdered.”

“You silly thing,” Josephine returns, “why do skeletons amuse you so?” Herah just laughs and shrugs her broad shoulders, and Josephine laughs with her, always amused by the way Herah Adaar can find humour in almost anything.

.

Herah is at the centre of all the activity at Skyhold, discussing the repairs and renovations with the master builder (who quite seriously informs her that no, she will not need a trebuchet _yet_ ) or attempting to mediate between the blacksmith and the quartermaster, whose arguments become a source of amusement for all those at Skyhold. Herah finds it difficult to smooth things over between the two men, so she begs for Josephine to step in.

“I keep saying the wrong things,” Herah tells her, “and then they keep fighting and cursing and being pig-headed idiots, which is quite amusing but not terribly productive. _Please_ , Josephine, can you speak to them and just – just say something, _you_ will know what to say.” Then she grins, bright and quick, as charming as ever. “You always do.”

“Flatterer,” Josephine retorts. They are walking atop the curtain wall, surveying the building work throughout Skyhold. “I will speak with them,” she agrees, and Herah’s grin broadens. They come to a stop and look out upon the fortress, a veritable hive of activity. “You are doing well,” Josephine tells the Inquisitor. “You are a good leader, and you are what the Inquisition needs. What Thedas needs.”

Herah turns to her. “I wouldn’t be anywhere without my advisors and the others,” she replies, her tone more serious. “I have you all to thank.”

“Perhaps,” Josephine says, “but we are not responsible for all of your success, not by far. Remember that.” She places her hand upon Herah’s arm. “It is you,” she says, “that they look to for guidance. You are the Herald.”

Herah has accepted her status as the Herald of Andraste readily enough – she is an Andrastian herself, a fact that did surprise Cullen and Cassandra. “Yes,” Herah murmurs, no trace of a smile upon her face now, “the Herald.” She glances down at the mark upon her left hand. “The Herald that the Chantry itself denounces.”

“There are those amongst the Chantry who spread their nasty little rumours and denounce you with poisoned words,” Josephine says heatedly, “but there is nothing else they can do, and few will believe them now anyway. The Chantry is a crumbling institution, Herah. And the Inquisition has arisen from history and legend, led by none other than you.” Her hand is still upon Herah’s arm, so she slips her hand down until her fingers intertwine with Herah’s. “Ignore them,” Josephine implores, “or take satisfaction in the fact that they are wrong. Exceedingly wrong.”

Herah gives a slow nod. “You are right,” the Inquisitor says eventually, her thumb brushing over Josephine’s hand. She glances up, pale eyebrows drawn together. “You sound angered by their words.”

The sweep of Herah’s thumb over her skin is soothing, and Josephine feels her anger melting away. “I am,” Josephine says, a little calmer now. “What they say - it is not right.” Then she smiles at the Inquisitor. “You are a good leader, and what they say will never change that, nor will their words change who you are. Remember that.”

Herah’s lips twitch. “Thank you,” Herah says, squeezing Josephine’s hand gently. “Your words are most reassuring.”

“You did inform me that I always know what to say,” Josephine recalls aloud, and Herah’s lips curve into one of her bright smiles. “Please,” Josephine repeats, “do not take their words to heart. Ignore them.”

“I will, as best I can. I promise.”

“Good.”

They stand in silence for a while, their fingers laced together, Josephine’s shoulder brushing against Herah’s arm. “Come,” Josephine says eventually, “you have to meet with Cassandra, and I have to speak with two men who are unable to get along.” 

So they continue on, Herah offering Josephine her arm, the advisor accepting graciously. “Thank you,” Herah says quietly, and Josephine leans into the Inquisitor.

“I will do anything I can to help,” Josephine answers, and she _will._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you all so much for the kudos, it means a lot! <3

Herah is not always at Skyhold, not anymore. She is away for days at a time now, even weeks, finding resources and undertaking missions, or recruiting more agents and soldiers to their cause. When she returns she is accompanied by new companions. One such companion recruited by Herah is an elven archer named Sera, and the two of them get along exceedingly well. Sera is not exactly a _bad_ influence, but she does bring out the mischievous side of the Inquisitor in a way that no one else can. They are brilliant pranksters, though Josephine is thankfully never subjected to any of their practical jokes – Herah cheerfully informs Josephine that she is dear to Herah’s heart, and thus off limits.

“Good,” Josephine says, sealing a roll of parchment and pressing the seal of the Inquisition into the hot wax. “Mind that you two do not get in _too_ much trouble.”

“We will try,” Herah promises, a gleam in her eye, before blowing Josephine a kiss and exiting the library, no doubt off to find Sera and cause some mischief. Josephine props her left elbow upon the table and rests her chin upon that hand, wondering how it would feel to actually kiss Herah. Her mind wanders, then, filled with pleasant thoughts that bring a blush to her cheeks, and eventually she shakes her head abruptly and returns to her work.

For the rest of the day, though, these thoughts pop back into her mind, and she is unable to banish them entirely. “You seem distracted,” Leliana notes, stopping by the library to give Josephine some reports. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Josephine reassures, as Leliana sits across from her. “It is just Herah, being terribly charming and distracting me." Leliana's lips curve into a knowing smile. "Also, you should be wary. Sera and she are planning some pranks.”

“Are they, now?”

And, of course, the Inquisitor and Sera play their practical jokes on the others. They capture three of Leliana’s rooks and set them loose in the kitchens as supper is being prepared, and the three birds evade capture for over an hour, occasionally swooping down from the rafters to pinch morsels of food. The mischievous duo glue feathers to Ser Cullen’s helm, they steal the Iron Bull’s clothes while he is bathing, and they attempt to shave Varric’s chest while he is sleeping, though the dwarf wakes up and chases the two of them from his bedchamber. They steal Cassandra’s novels and draw crude and lewd pictures throughout the pages, an act that causes the Seeker to bury her head in her arms and wonder aloud why the fate of Thedas rests upon such troublesome shoulders.

“Well, she makes us laugh,” Cullen admits during a meeting of the advisors, as he plucks feathers from his helm. “And they aren’t harmful pranks.”

Leliana’s retribution is swift and brutal: the Inquisitor awakes to find the upper half of her horns painted a garish shade of orange. “Your Eminence,” the spymaster greets evenly as Herah sits down at breakfast, punching the Bull in the shoulder as he laughs aloud.

“Spymaster,” Herah replies, spooning porridge into her bowl. “I am sure you can imagine my horror when I looked in the mirror this morning. This shade of orange clashes awfully with my hair.”

“It serves you right,” Leliana says evenly, and Cassandra smirks into a cup of tea. The others are all rather amused. Vivienne looks somewhat disgusted by the awful shade of orange, yet also pleased by Leliana’s revenge. To the others she must seem rather impassive, but Josephine can read the subtle emotions she displays.

And Josephine? She is bemused, too. Herah catches her gaze from across the table and grins, raising an eyebrow in question.

Josephine laughs, unable to contain her smile. “I must admit,” she says, “that orange is not a colour that suits you well.”

“Alas,” Herah says mournfully, “I had feared this was so.”

“Do not worry. I am sure it will come off in time.”

(Herah spends an hour removing the paint, then solemnly promises their spymaster that she and her rooks will never be the subject of a practical joke again).

.

It is harder, now, to find time to spend with each other while not in the company of others. But they manage when Herah is at Skyhold, and these hours spent together are precious hours indeed. Some nights, after a few pastries and a glass of wine each, they walk atop the curtain wall, as has become their habit.

They have grown close. Herah even shares her doubts with Josephine – these are rare moments, few and far between – and Josephine reassures the Inquisitor as best she can, attempting to ease these apprehensive thoughts.

And it works. Herah tells her this, and more. “Josephine,” she says to the advisor, during one of their walks, “I must tell you something.” The moon is rising, the stars are bright and the night breeze is cool. “I care for you. Er, romantically.” Herah clears her throat, cheeks flushed. “You know what I mean, don’t you?” She turns to Josephine, her eyes uncertain. “I have not said it before, I know, but I need to tell you this. I need to _say_ it.” She is tentative.

Josephine takes Herah’s hands in her own. “I think about you all the time,” Josephine tells her, “the way you smile and laugh, the jokes you make – and your shoulders. I think about your shoulders a lot.”

“My _shoulders_?”

“Your shoulders,” Josephine affirms. “They are gorgeous. Strong and broad.” She steps closer. “I care for you too, Herah,” she says, more seriously now. “Never doubt that. _Never._ ”

And she kisses Herah Adaar.

Herah’s lips taste of wine and sugar, and Josephine has to stand upon her tiptoes to reach them, one hand on a broad shoulder and the other cupping Herah’s jaw. Herah is a little unsure at first – surprised, perhaps – but suddenly she _isn’t_ , her hands coming to rest upon Josephine’s waist, warm and broad, and she returns the kiss eagerly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much!
> 
> Leave a kudos or comment if you like <3

.

It is early one morning when Leliana walks into her office, a rook seated upon her shoulder. “A field report just came in,” the spymaster greets, producing a small roll of parchment. She hands it to Josephine as the rook croaks and flutters its wings. “It’s from Herah.”

“Herah?” Josephine glances up from her work and takes the field report eagerly, while the rook fidgets and fusses upon Leliana’s shoulder. Josephine spreads the parchment and scans the familiar spiky writing, her lips curving into a smile as she reads.

_Spymaster;_

_Should return within three days, accompanied by two dozen soldier recruits and four refugee mages. Provisions must be made for their accommodation. Give my regards to the other advisors._

“Three days,” Josephine muses, sitting back in her chair. “Later than we expected, but these things happen. And for good cause. She has been very busy in her time away.”

“You miss her,” Leliana teases. The rook tugs at a strand of red hair, attempting to gain her attention. “No,” says the spymaster firmly, while Josephine watches on in amusement. “I do not have food for you.” She returns her attention to Josephine. “You should see the smile upon your face. Fond, and relieved. But _very_ fond.”

“I am quite fond of Herah, yes,” Josephine admits with a smile. “Of course I miss her.” How could she not miss the Inquisitor? _Skyhold feels empty without Herah here_ , she realises. _I will be glad to have her back._

.

Those three days pass quickly, and soon Josephine and Leliana are making their way through the fortress, down towards the great hall. It is late afternoon and Herah is expected to arrive soon, so they will meet her in the courtyard and welcome the Inquisitor home.

“So,” Leliana begins as they reach the great hall, “I have a question.” She is without a rook today, which is somewhat disappointing, as Josephine does rather like the clever birds. The spymaster glances at Josephine with a small smile upon her lips. “You kissed her, did you not?”

“I did,” Josephine says. She touches a hand to her lips, unable to contain her smile. “A few weeks ago, before she left.” They pass Varric, who raises a hand at them in greeting as he lounges before a fireplace. They wave back and continue on.

The spymaster’s eyes glint as they step outside the fortress and into the sun. “Did you enjoy it?” she asks, nudging Josephine with her elbow – a gesture that is almost playful.

“Please,” Josephine replies, brushing her shoulder against Leliana’s, “you know that I did.”

Cullen joins them soon enough, greeting his fellow advisors cordially. “You will be glad to have Herah back, will you not?” he asks, a question certainly aimed at Josephine.

“Of course.” Briefly, she wonders if he knows. Herah and Josephine have not yet announced their relationship to the Inquisition, but that does not mean the others do not know. Leliana, of course, has guessed – perhaps Cullen has guessed too.

Horns sound from the curtain wall above the main gate. “Here they come,” Cullen says, and after a minute or so, Herah rides into Skyhold. Cassandra rides at her right hand, Sera and Solas at the left, and over a dozen men and women behind – the soldier recruits and the refugee mages, evidently. They are all wearied by travel, yet the refugees and recruits look around with wide eyes, seeming rather impressed by Skyhold.

Herah glances at Cassandra and gestures to the soldiers, and the Seeker takes charge of them. Solas leads the mages towards one of the newly reconstructed towers. Hera, Sera and two remaining men – _neither recruits or refugees_ , Josephine decides – ride towards them.

Herah is tired – Josephine can already see the dark circles beneath her eyes – yet she leaps from her horse and strides towards them, grinning broadly. “Josephine,” she breathes, “you look as radiant as the sun.” And she takes Josephine’s hand and presses a kiss to it, her eyes sparkling.

Josephine has missed this – the quickening of her blood, the rush of warmth spreading up her arm and into her body – she has missed _Herah._ “We are pleased to have you back,” Josephine says, her lips curving into an affectionate smile.

“I am glad to be back,” Herah replies, her thumb brushing over the back of Josephine’s hand. It is a familiar gesture by now, one that always has the most curious effect upon Josephine – it is soothing, yes, but there is still that surge of heat sweeping across her skin. “Very glad indeed.”

Then Herah releases her hand reluctantly, as she must greet the other advisors, who have thus far been ignored. This is something they seem to find rather amusing, judging by the looks upon their faces.

Herah notices their smirks and she flushes, clearing her throat. “Spymaster,” the Inquisitor says, now addressing Leliana, “you failed to mention how clever and dangerous Scout Harding is. I want ten more, please.”

“Just don’t drink with her,” Leliana warns. “She holds her liquor well.”

“I already made that mistake,” Herah professes with a grimace, and Josephine rolls her eyes, something that does not escape the Inquisitor, who merely gives a rueful grin in return. Then Herah turns to Cullen and claps him on the shoulder. “You play chess, commander?”

“I do,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Herah glances over her shoulder and waves. The two unfamiliar men step forward – one clearly a Grey Warden, the other a mage – _a mage from Tevinter,_ Josephine realises, noting his garb.

“This is Dorian Pavus, and this is Blackwall, the Warden-Constable of Val Chevin. They have both joined our cause. Men, you have before you Ser Cullen, the commander of our forces; Leliana – who is the Left Hand of the Divine and our spymaster; and Lady Josephine Montilyet, our diplomat and ambassador.” Introductions done, she glances at Cullen. “Dorian tells me he plays chess.”

“I do,” the mage says cheerfully. “Are you ready for a challenge, commander?”

Cullen is taken aback for a moment, then he smiles. “Are _you_?” he asks, and Dorian Pavus laughs before clasping Cullen’s hand.

.

Later, after introducing Blackwall and Dorian to the other companions, Herah and her advisors hold a quick War Council. Cullen is dispatched on a mission to Ferelden, to treat with some Templars holding a merchant captive. “Force is a last resort,” Herah tells him, looking up from the map. “They will respect you, given your history, and hopefully this will make things easier.”

“Yes, Your Eminence. I will go and make preparations.”

She nods and Cullen leaves.  “I,” Herah announces, “am going to take a bath.” Then, she bows her head and whispers in Josephine’s ear, “would you come to my room in an hour?”

“Of course.” Josephine squeezes her arm. “I will see you then.”

Leliana bids the Inquisitor goodbye, then says something about going to find Cassandra. She too disappears, and so Josephine returns to her study to finish off some letters and missives. An hour passes quickly and she finds herself eager to meet with Herah again – and in private, no less.

She almost forgets to take the bottle of wine that has been sitting on her desk for the last three weeks, and doubles back to retrieve it.

.

She knocks on the door to Herah’s room, and laughs a little when she hears Herah leaping across the room to answer it. “Eager to see me?” Josephine asks teasingly as Herah ushers her in.

Herah’s eyes are bright. “You have no idea,” she says, and the door has been barely shut when Herah is bending down to kiss her warmly. “I missed you,” Herah says against her lips, “every single _day_.” She kisses Josephine sweetly, her hands sweeping down from Josephine’s shoulders to rest upon her hips. Then she plucks the bottle of wine from Josephine’s hand and draws back to examine it. “Oh my, look at the date.”

“Thirty years old,” Josephine murmurs, leaning up to press a kiss to Herah’s jaw. “Orlesian vintage. I’ve been saving it for weeks.” She trails her lips down Herah’s throat, pressing a kiss to the Inquisitor’s quickening pulse. “I missed you too.”

“ _Maker_ ,” Herah breathes, and she reaches down with one hand to tilt Josephine’s head up, before closing the distance between them. Josephine parts her lips at the press of Herah’s tongue – this is a heated kiss, now, long and lingering, _demanding_. And Josephine matches it, tugging at the Inquisitor’s lower lip with her teeth, hands sliding up strong arms and across broad shoulders to wrap around the collar of Herah’s shirt, pulling her closer.

Eventually they must part to catch their breath. Herah’s lips are swollen and flushed, her hair messed – it gives Josephine a surge of satisfaction, to see her so affected, and it really is quite perfect.

“So,” Herah says, taking a deep breath, her eyes not leaving Josephine’s. “Wine first, or….”

“Forget the wine.” Josephine finds herself smirking. “I have a better idea.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently in the middle of moving houses, but hopefully I'll be updating and posting more stuff soon!  
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! 113 kudos at last count - and that's an amazing milestone. So thank you all. So much! <3  
> leave kudos or comments if you like! <3

.

She wakes to find the first rays of dawn streaming through the windows. She is in Herah’s room – Herah’s _bed_ – and the two of them are quite naked, their limbs tangled together, bodies barely covered by a sheet. Josephine thinks of the events of the night before and finds herself smiling.  It had been past midnight whenthey had finally succumbed to sleep’s sweet embrace, the two of them rather exhausted – and _very_ satisfied.

She watches Herah sleep for a while. The Inquisitor looks peaceful and unburdened, one arm thrown over Josephine’s waist, the other tucked beneath their shared pillow. Josephine traces the lines of Herah’s face with her eyes. She finds herself reaching out, brushing a strand of white hair behind one ear, and her gentle touch wakes the Inquisitor.

Eyelids flutter open, revealing those brilliant eyes Josephine loves so. “Good morning,” she greets in a murmur.

Herah gives a drowsy smile. “Good morning,” she says, and regards Josephine in silence. Then Herah’s eyes widen. “Last night,” she says, sounding rather apprehensive, “we – did you enjoy it?”

Josephine stretches languidly, very conscious of Herah’s eyes drifting down her body. “Of _course_ I did,” she reassures. “It was – words cannot describe.”

“Thad bad?” Herah’s lips twitch.

“It was perfect,” Josephine assures. “As are you.” She reaches out again, sweeping her thumb across Herah’s cheek. “And what did you think?”

“Oh, let me see.” The apprehension has left her tones. Herah pulls Josephine closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It was incredible.” This time, her lips brush over the tip of Josephine’s nose. “Magnificent.” Then Herah’s lips are on Josephine’s. “And _unforgettable_.”

“I certainly thought so too.” Josephine moves so that she hovers over Herah. “You know,” she murmurs, “breakfast isn’t for over an hour yet.”

Herah grins up at her. “I like the way you think,” she says. Then, in one quick and lithe movement, she flips them, reversing their positions. “I’ve noticed,” Herah says, as she kisses her way down Josephine’s body, “that you are quite sensitive _here_.” She nips the skin below Josephine’s left hipbone.

“You are correct in that,” Josephine manages, squirming slightly. Herah rests her chin upon Josephine’s stomach and smirks at her. “Well?” Josephine raises an eyebrow at Herah. “Are you going to just stop?”

“Ask me nicely.” Herah trails her hands up from Josephine’s calves, calloused fingers coming to a rest upon the ambassador’s thighs.

“You are _impossible._ ”

“Mmm. A little.” She presses her thumbs into Josephine’s thighs, moving her thumbs in small circles. “So?”

“ _Please_ ,” Josephine relents, and Herah grins up at her again, all flashing teeth and bright eyes, before bowing her head.

.

With a quarter-hour left until the start of breakfast, they finally drag themselves out of bed. “I need to stop by my rooms for a new dress,” Josephine tells Herah, who is pulling on a pair of black breeches.

Herah agrees cheerfully, and they sneak through the fortress until they reach Josephine’s rooms, where she picks out the day’s outfit and dresses quickly. Then she fixes her hair, and after that they head off to the main hall.

They sit down opposite each other at the dining table and trade smirks. “Morning,” Herah greets smoothly, “how is everyone today?”

Cassandra growls. “ _Someone_ ,” she says, glaring at Sera, “short-sheeted my bed.”

The elf snorts. “What? I never! Get out.”

Varric is grinning into his porridge. Josephine raises an eyebrow. He winks. She sighs and begins to butter her toast.

Sera, meanwhile, has turned her attention to Herah. “You’re looking more…glowy than usual.”

“I don’t glow, Sera. We discussed this at length when you wanted to use me as a lantern in those caves.” Herah rolls her eyes. “Tea, Josephine?”

“Yes please.” Herah pours her a cup of tea and passes it across the table. Josephine thanks her courteously.

Sera looks at Josephine and her eyes widen. She looks back to Herah, a grin creeping onto her face. “Oh, I know what it is. Did you two—”

“ _Sera_!” Herah exclaims loudly, her cheeks darkening.

Josephine resists the urge to place her head in her hands.

“Did you two _what_?” comes a voice, and Leliana sits down beside Josephine. The spymaster stares at the Inquisitor and reaches out for an orange, quartering it in quick, smooth motions. She uses one of her belt-daggers for the task: a small weapon, yes, but the blade is incredibly keen.

 _Oh dear_ , Josephine thinks.

Herah stares at Leliana and blinks. “We – ah – hello.”

Leliana smiles at the Inquisitor. Coolly. “We will talk, I think.” Her tones are dangerous.

“When?” asks Herah, rather nervous, her eyes flickering down to the quartered orange.

The smile grows sharper. “Now.”

Herah nods, and they stand in unison. “Wait,” Josephine says, “I should be there—”

“I think not, Josie.”  Leliana pats her on the shoulder.

Then they are heading towards the rookery. Herah glances back at Josephine and mouths, _she wants to kill me_.

“Oh no,” Josephine whispers, and presses a hand to her mouth.

Varric slides up the bench so he sits next to her. “Look,” he comforts, “Herah will be fine, alright? I mean, what’s the worst the spymaster can do?” His face falls. “Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say that, Ruffles.”

“ _Varric_ ,” scolds Vivienne. Then, to the ambassador, “Josephine, darling, all that Leliana will do is terrify Herah a little.”

“Or a _lot._ She is scary,” Sera says through a mouthful of bread.

Loud footsteps fill the air. “Good _morning_!” booms the Iron Bull, taking Herah’s vacated spot on the bench. He drinks the remnants of her tea and stares at everyone. “Why are you all so grim? It’s a great day.”

“We may be without an Inquisitor very shortly,” Cassandra informs him. “Leliana is… _talking_ to her. So yes. A great day.”

“Oh!” He looks at Josephine and notes her expression. “Did Red find out about you two?”

She stares at him. “You knew?” Josephine asks incredulously.

He laughs. “I figured something was up. Viv and I talked about you two last night, actually. I mean, ma’am and I. But yeah.”

Josephine sighs in exasperation. “It is not _her_ place to drag Herah off and question her intentions in regards to me! After all, who will subject _me_ to such a thing! No one!”

There is silence. “Out of curiosity,” the Bull says, slowly, “what _are_ your intentions?”

.

So, they talk.

Rather, Leliana asks pointed questions, and Herah answers them with utmost honesty.

“I am glad,” Leliana says finally, “that you make her happy. But if you ever hurt her, then I will kill you.” She says this as though she is discussing the weather. _The sky is blue with a few clouds, and I will cut your heart out if you make my dearest friend unhappy._

The spymaster is an extremely capable woman. Herah does not doubt this at all. _Hurt Josephine?_ The thought of doing such a thing makes Herah’s stomach twist. “I understand,” she replies, gravely.

“Good. Another thing.” Leliana’s gaze softens. “Be careful of her parents.”

“Ah, yes.” She clears her throat. “I _have_ heard about them.”

Leliana nods. “Then that is all I wished to say, Inquisitor.” A raven swoops down from above, landing upon the spymaster’s shoulder. “No doubt Josephine is wondering where you are – and if you yet live.”

“I think _everyone_ is wondering that,” Herah says wryly, and Leliana’s lips twitch. “But thank you, spymaster. I am glad that Josephine has you looking out for her.”

“She has you too, now.”

“Yes,” Herah agrees, “she does.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! so many kudos! Thank you all so much!
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you like! <3

.

Herah returns to Skyhold with an injury. Josephine is the first of the advisors to know, given the fact she meets the returning party at in the courtyard. In an instant she realises _something_ is amiss – Herah slouches in the saddle, a hand pressed to her stomach, and she does not look up as Josephine approaches.

So Josephine turns her attention to the others. “What happened?” she asks, hurrying towards them. Then her eyes are upon Herah once more.

“Templars,” says the Iron Bull, helping the Inquisitor from her horse. “Nasty brute with a greatsword managed to land a blow. Cassandra stitched her up, and Dorian did what he could, but she needs to see healers.”

Herah looks up. There are dark shadows beneath her eyes and her skin is pale. Her face is pained, though her features soften when her eyes land upon Josephine. “I didn’t want you to see this,” she manages, one arm about the Bull’s shoulders.

Josephine had feared it would happen, sooner or later – that Herah would be injured, possibly quite seriously. And now the reality of the situation sets in, though she does not react how she thought she would. Instead, she moves forwards and takes Herah’s other arm about her shoulders. “Don’t be silly, dear,” she says. “Now let us take you to the infirmary.”

So they take Herah to the infirmary, where she is immediately attended to by a healer. The wound stretches across her torso, a clean gash from the lowest of her left ribs to her right hip, stitched neatly. Some sort of paste covers the gash. Josephine’s stomach clenches into one big knot and she takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about all the green stuff,” Dorian says, pulling up a stool next to Herah’s bed. “It’s a poultice. I had to make do with elfroot, as I am _hardly_ the best healer.”

“You’re the worst healer I’ve ever seen,” the Bull says, with a laugh. “But those stitches are good.”

“Of course,” Cassandra says, from the corner of the room. “And the poultice prevented infection. A pity we ran out of painward, however.”

“I like painward,” Herah says, clenching her teeth as the healer begins to clean off the poultice carefully.

Dorian passes the healer a clean rag. “Oh, we _know_ ,” he says, and pats Herah’s knee. “This may sting a little.”

The healer announces that Herah will be fine. “No internal organs were harmed. The worst of the damage was to the muscles. I will heal them now, though you will experience discomfort for at least three days. During this time, I advise that you undertake no strenuous activities, Inquisitor. No running or lifting heavy objects, no sparring, no horse riding – you may walk and sit, but that is all.”

Josephine notes this, and then turns to the Iron Bull. “May I speak with you?” she asks quietly, and he nods. They step outside. “The templar who did this – what happened to him?”

The Iron Bull smiles grimly. “I killed him myself.”

“Good,” Josephine says, “good.” Very rarely is she glad of _any_ violent reprisals, but now…yes. She is glad. Josephine inclines her head at him. “I thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” The Iron Bull sighs. “It must be pretty bad, seeing her like this.” He watches her carefully. Then the Bull blinks, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Hey. I know something that’ll lighten your mood.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” she admits.

“Really? Alright, listen to this.” He folds his arms and leans against the wall. “Dorian gave Herah something to dull the pain – painward, that concentrated plant extract. She was only supposed to have one sip, but she drank the entire vial.” He shakes his head and snorts. “Yeah, it hit her hard. Within a minute or so she was off her face, saying all sorts of ridiculous things.”

A smile touches Josephine’s lips. “Dare I ask?”

“She said: ‘I want Josephine here, wrapped in a sheet of the finest white silk, a laurel of golden leaves upon her brow. And she will tend to me with sweet words and sweeter kisses’. Uh, then when Cassandra started stitching her up, Herah got _really_ feisty and said, ‘you aren’t Josephine, you can’t touch me there’. I think Cassandra replied with, ‘these are your ribs, and you should shut-up’.”

Josephine stares at him. “You definitely made the first one up.”

“What? I’m not that poetic. She is, though.” They look inside the room. The healer’s hands are glowing with magic, and Herah is staring at the ceiling, her jaw clenched. “She kept going _on_ and _on_ about you. It’s rather sweet.” He winks at Josephine. “I’m glad you two have each other.”

The healer soon finishes, and the Iron Bull and Josephine help the Inquisitor through the fortress and up to her quarters. Once there, Herah sprawls across the bed and groans.

“I’ll have someone send up some food,” the Bull tells Josephine, and pats the Inquisitor on the shoulder. “Hey, boss, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Mmm,” Herah says, blinking up at him, “do me a favour?”

“No. No more painward for you. You don't need it now, anyway."

“Some friend you are,” she mutters, and the Bull laughs before leaving them.

“So,” Josephine says, sitting on the edge of Herah’s bed, “a white sheet and a laurel of golden leaves, hmm?”

Tired eyes meet hers. Herah’s colour has improved, though, and it gives Josephine some measure of relief. “Do not forget the sweet words and sweeter kisses,” the Inquisitor says, her lips quirking into a smile.

 _There we go._ “I will not,” Josephine promises, and kisses Herah’s brow and cheeks, and then her lips. It is a brief kiss, though, and Herah makes a little sound of protest when Josephine pulls away. “You need your rest,” Josephine tells her firmly. “No strenuous activity for three days, remember?”

“Kissing isn’t _strenuous_. Well, not really.”

“It leads to strenuous things, my darling.” Josephine brushes a wayward strand of pale hair behind one of Herah’s ears.

“My darling,” the Inquisitor echoes. “I like it when you call me that.” She stretches a little and grimaces. “Ouch.”

Josephine kisses her forehead again, and then stands. “I’m going to take your boots off. And get you out of these clothes.”

“But no strenuous activities,” Herah says mournfully. “And no silk sheet.”

“I’m sure you can _imagine_ how that would look on me, given your familiarity with my body."

The smile turns into a smirk. A tired smirk, but a smirk nonetheless, and there is a glint in those violet eyes. "I certainly can," Herah promises.

 .

Other members of the inner circle stop by to visit Herah. Cullen brings his chess set and plays a few games with Herah. After lunch on the second day, Josephine goes to check on Herah and finds Cole sitting on the end of Herah’s bed, the two of them listening intently as Varric reads a few chapters of _Hard in Hightown_ aloud.

Cassandra and Leliana visit together in the afternoon. “I was once run through by a greatsword,” Cassandra says, sounding almost wistful as she stares out the window. “Those were the days.”

Herah looks equal parts intrigued and horrified.

“I miss going out in the field, sometimes,” Leliana admits. “Fighting dragons was always the most exciting part. Such terrible beasts! But they were so messy to kill. Too much blood and smoke." She looks at Herah. "There is that dragon in Crestwood, you know – it might start harassing villagers soon.”

“Oh, that thing? Yes, I’ve been meaning to deal with it. The Bull has insisted that he accompany me.”

Cassandra arches an eyebrow. “I will also be coming, I should think.”

“Yes, of course – you _are_ our resident dragon-slayer, after all.”

Josephine sighs. “Just be _careful_ ,” she says. And then, “Also: bring me back some scales. I have heard they have the most remarkable colour….”

.

Later that night, when Cassandra and Leliana have left to return to their duties, Sera stops by. “Look,” she says, presenting Herah with a book, “I thought you might like to look at this. It’s Cassandra’s.”

“Cassandra’s?” Herah begins to open the book. “Definitely smut then – oh.”

“Just drawings, actually. Lots of drawings.” Sera grins down at the book. “See? Like a manual. What’s it called, again? She’s scratched out the title on the spine and cover. Rude.”

Josephine takes one look at the drawings and sighs. “ _The Antivan Guide to Sensual Delights_ ,” she informs them. “Dare I ask how you came across this, Sera?”

“She was reading it in the library, then Leliana came and got her to look at some report, yeah? Cassandra left it open, so I thought I’d have a peek. You can’t _keep_ it, though. She’ll be turning the library upside down looking for it. I have to give it back soon, otherwise she’ll realise I took it.”

“Alright,” Herah says as she flips through the pages. “There aren’t many drawings in here of _just_ women,” she notes eventually.

“I know, right? Bloody wrong. Anyway, best be going.” Sera takes the book from Herah and slips out of the room. “See you!”

Herah waves goodbye, sitting at her desk. “I would have liked to have looked at that book more closely,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

Josephine clears her throat. “There are several companion books,” she begins, meeting Herah’s eyes. “One which solely concerns women…and has added descriptions in writing.”

A pale eyebrow raises. “And how would one go about procuring this book?”

“I may already have it,” Josephine admits.

Violet eyes widen slightly. “ _Josephine_ ,” Herah breathes. She pushes her chair back a little. “Come here,” she invites, her tones low and warm and….

 _No_. The ambassador takes a breath, shakes her head. “I think not.” Josephine stands and smooths her skirts. “I have my reports to write, and _you_ have to heal. I would hate for you to do any damage to your muscles. Do try to get some sleep.”

“Sleep?” Herah’s voice is hoarse. Strangled. “How do you expect I’ll sleep _now_ , after you’ve told me this?”

“You shall have wonderful dreams indeed, my dear.” Josephine blows her a kiss. “I will see you in the morning.”

The next morning, she arrives at breakfast to find Herah already seated at the table. Josephine presses a kiss to the Inquisitor’s cheek, before sitting next to her. “How did you sleep last night?”

“I had the most marvellous dreams,” Herah tells her. Those violet eyes are even brighter today. “Just as you foretold.”

.

Within three days of returning to Skyhold, Herah is back to full strength and magic has completely healed her wound, a point that she makes very clear to Josephine in the evening.

“Are you _sure_ you are healed?” Josephine asks for the fourth time as Herah tugs her up the stairs to her quarters eagerly.

“I am _positively_ sure.” They reach a landing and Herah presses her against the wall. “You keep asking me this. I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t want to—”

“Of course I do,” Josephine assures, leaning up to brush her lips against Herah’s. “I just don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

Herah’s eyes gleam, and her lips curve into a hungry smile. “That sounds entirely agreeable to me. What do you think?”

“Well, you _do_ seem healthy and hale.” Josephine considers the Inquisitor and then nods. “Bedroom. Now.”

They finally reach Herah’s bedroom. Clothes are swiftly divested, and they tumble onto Herah’s bed, where Josephine quickly gains advantage, straddling her lover’s hips. Her eyes scan the expanse of Herah’s skin, trailing down the raised purple line from her ribs to her right hip. There are other scars too, but none so serious as this.

“It’s such a bother to heal away scars,” Herah says, sitting up on her elbows and staring down at the mark. “So I told them to leave it. It will fade over time, anyway.” She looks at Josephine and her eyebrows draw together. “You don’t mind…do you?”

“Of course not.” Even if all trace of the wound had been removed, Josephine would still have remembered it. She traces the scar now, her fingers light. “You are alive and well. And I am thankful for that.”

“So am I.” Herah reaches up, a calloused hand coming to rest upon Josephine’s neck. She brushes her thumb over Josephine’s skin, the simple gesture leaving trails of fire in its wake. “Come here.”

Their lips meet. Herah kisses her, slow and deep, her clever tongue enough to make Josephine gasp into her mouth. Josephine’s hands map the muscles of her stomach, then higher to her ribs – “I’ve heard that only I’m allowed to touch you here,” Josephine murmurs against Herah’s lips.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Herah says wickedly, “that’s not the only part of my body that only you are allowed to touch.”

Josephine laughs. “That was _terrible_.”

“It’s true, though.”

Josephine’s hand slips between Herah’s legs, and she watches as her lover’s pupils widen. “Oh,” Josephine says, smirking as her fingers enter slick heat, “I _know_.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the comments and kudos!  
> <3

.

Herah sweeps into Skyhold’s great hall with a grin on her face. “We are _dragon slayers_ ,” she announces to everyone present. She has just arrived back at the fortress from her expedition, and she is victorious.

There is a cheer from those around them. Herah takes Josephine’s hands and twirls the ambassador under her arm. “She was a mighty creature,” she tells everyone as she and Josephine take two graceful steps. Herah’s eyes are bright. “The earth trembled when she roared.” A fluid turn, then three quick steps. “She had teeth and talons like daggers. Scales like iron.” Her lips brush over Josephine’s brow. Then they are turning again. “And she breathed lightning upon us – the living embodiment of a storm.”  Herah gazes down at Josephine with bright eyes. “I missed you,” she adds, in a quieter tone of voice.

“I missed you too, my darling.” For a moment, it seems like it is just the two of them in the centre of the hall, Josephine’s hands in Herah’s, their bodies close. But then someone trips over a chair and spits several curses – in Tevene, so it must be Dorian – and Josephine becomes aware of the others again. “But how exciting!” she exclaims. “Were you injured?”

“It knocked me over a few times,” Herah says, with a grimace, “but nothing serious.”

“I am glad to hear.”

“I thought you would be.” She presses something cool and smooth into Josephine’s hand. It is a scale, hard and metallic in appearance, with all the lustre of a gem. It is dark grey at its base, but it fades to white at the tip, and has a faint purple sheen when Josephine examines it from another angle.

“Oh, Herah – how marvellous!”

“Isn’t it?” Herah beams. “There’s more where that came from.”

Six soldiers carry a long crate into the hall, and set it down before the dais. “Come,” Herah says, tugging Josephine along, “do you want to see its skull?”

.

“A fine beast,” Cassandra declares later, when all the members of the inner circle have come to view the dragon skull. Only the Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera and Dorian had accompanied Herah on her expedition. The others are standing around, gazing at the skull in varying degrees of awe. “See? I stabbed it here.” She shows them a gruesome wound on the underside of the dragon’s skull, where her blade had gouged into the bone during the battle.

“Good work,” Leliana says approvingly. Cassandra actually _smiles_ at that.

Josephine watches the two of them curiously. _I wonder_ , she thinks, _if there was ever anything between them? Or if there is now?_ They are standing quite close together, and Cassandra is one of the rare few people in the Inquisition that do not seem to be intimidated by Leliana. _But that could be attributed to a great deal of courage and bravery._

They had visited Herah together when the Inquisitor had been healing, though. And Cassandra _did_ seem to spend a lot of time in the rookery.

But then Sera is pointing to one of the empty eye sockets, and Josephine’s attention is drawn back to the dragon. “And I shot it right in the eye. Ha! Then it got really nasty and trampled Herah.”

“I managed to hamstring it in all the chaos,” Herah confides to Josephine. “That was hard work. I think I’ve ruined the edge on my daggers.” She shrugs her broad shoulders. “So there it was, bleeding and half-blind, staggering around and roaring in rage, and the Bull just _skipped_ in and stabbed it in the gut with his greatsword. I could hardly believe my eyes!”

“I did skip,” the Bull tells them cheerfully. “It was a glorious battle! A joyous battle!”

“Who landed the killing blow?” asks Cullen, rather impressed by their feat.

“We don’t really know,” Herah admits. “We regrouped under one of Dorian’s barriers, and the dragon just _fell_ to the ground. There was a lot of blood coming from where Cassandra stabbed it, so we thought that perhaps she managed to cut an artery. It could be that, or the Bull’s blow was more grievous than it appeared.”

“Ah,” says the Bull, before he mutters something in Qunlat that makes Herah laugh.

“As long as you do that later,” says the Inquisitor, “and in private, too.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Varric, running one hand along the top of the skull.

“Trust me,” the Bull laughs, “you really don’t want to know.”

.

“I was actually quite scared,” Herah admits that night, as they walk atop the curtain wall. Her fingers are intertwined with Josephine’s, their bodies pressed together as closely as walking side-by-side will allow. “Well, a first. Then there was just adrenaline, and fire and smoke and _blood_. Leliana was right about all the blood. And when it was done, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.” She bends over and presses a quick kiss to Josephine’s cheek. "I almost felt foolish."

“Foolish? I do not doubt that you were magnificent,” Josephine murmurs. “My dragon slayer.”

“Almost dragon slayer. Partial dragon slayer? Next time,” Herah declares, “I shall actually _kill_ the dragon, and I shall proclaim that I killed it for you. How does that sound?”

“Will I be presented with the skull?”

“Yes, and we shall have it placed in your study, so that our guests can look upon it and _tremble_.”

“My _dragon slayer_ ,” Josephine says, and pulls Herah down into a kiss. "You must be tired," she says when they part. "You should get some sleep-"

"Or," Herah suggests, eyes bright, "we could go to my room, and celebrate in a more intimate setting?"

"Well, that _does_ sound rather agreeable."

.

The next morning, Herah enters Josephine’s office after breakfast, flashes the ambassador a mischievous grin, and sits in one of the chairs on the other side of Josephine’s desk.

“And what will you be doing today, my darling?” Josephine asks, wondering what mischief Herah has planned.  

“Relaxing,” Herah says, lips twitching into a smirk. “In my rooms. Naked. Perhaps I shall read that book – what was it? _The Antivan Guide to Sensual Delights_? I might take a bath too.”

 _Oh_.

“I have half a dozen appointments,” Josephine says, resting her hands upon her desk. “Nobles from Ferelden and Orlais I have to meet. I must keep them apart, otherwise they are likely to murder each other.” She stares at Herah unblinkingly. “And you are not helping me.”

“Aren’t I?” A teasing grin. “Lady Montilyet, _please_ tell me that you won’t be thinking of me naked all day.”

Josephine’s lips twitch. “You are impossible.”

“So you will be thinking of me?” Eyes gleaming, she asks, “Did you see that bottle of massage oil I brought back to Skyhold?”

“The scented – _no_.” She is _certainly_ not thinking of Herah naked, certainly not thinking of massaging the scented oil into Herah’s muscles. She coughs.

Herah raises a pale eyebrow. “You don’t want to…admire my shoulders?”

Josephine laughs. “You are very tempting…but no.” She gives Herah a regretful smile. “Later.”

“Alas,” Herah says, cheerfully, getting to her feet in a graceful movement. “Will you finish before the war council?”

“Hopefully – if Bann Raul doesn’t kill one of the Orlesians.”

“I will come and see you then,” Herah promises, talking three long strides around Josephine’s desk, till she stands next to the ambassador. “Good luck for today.” She kisses Josephine quickly, making a surprised sound when the ambassador pulls her back for another kiss. “You are quite impossible, too,” Herah muses, when they finally part.

“How strange,” Josephine says, “I must have learnt from you.”

Herah is about to reply when Leliana enters Josephine’s study, Cassandra following behind.

“You sent couriers to Val Royeaux,” Leliana says abruptly. Not a question. A statement.

And suddenly the cheery mood in the office is gone.

“I did,” Josephine says. Herah straightens up and rests one hand upon the back of Josephine’s chair. “They were carrying documents that would hopefully allow my family to become landed traders there – why do you ask?” Then, she begins to feel a sinking sense of dread. “Why do you look so grim, Leliana?”

“The couriers were killed, Josephine, and the documents destroyed.”

 _No_ , she thinks, _no, it can’t be_. _Who kills couriers? Destroy the documents – yes, but to kill couriers?_ She breathes in through her nose. “Please tell me…you cannot be….”

But Leliana speaks the truth. Her blue eyes are grave and sorry. “My agents have confirmed it. I am sorry, Josephine.”

Herah’s hand slips down until it rests upon Josephine’s shoulder, fingers lightly squeezing. Josephine raises one of her hands and slips it into Herah’s.

Then she steels herself. “But – who would _do_ such a thing?”

“There is a comte in the city who claims to know,” Leliana answers. “However, he says that he will not meet you unless the Inquisitor accompanies you.”

_Why would he—_

“I’ll come,” Herah says immediately. “Of course I’ll come with you, Josephine.”

“And we will come too,” Cassandra adds, glancing at Leliana. Josephine begins to shake her head. “We have already decided this, so please do not argue.”

“It could be a trap—”

“That is why we are coming,” Leliana tells Josephine. Her tones are gentle yet firm. “It will be quick trip: we will speak to the comte, and if he does not give us answers, then we will use other means to discover what truly happened."

“And we will deliver justice,” says Herah. She speaks now as the Inquisitor, even as her thumb brushes over Josephine's hand. “How soon can we leave?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and comments! leave some if you like <3

.

They arrive at Val Royeaux wearied by travel and worry. Their appointment with Comte Boisvert is within the hour, so they barely have time to wash their faces before they are making their way to his manse. Cassandra is clearly on edge, glaring at every shadow and passer-by. Leliana and Herah have the appearance of calmness, yet their eyes are steely and determined.

Josephine is nervous. But she steels herself too. Herah’s hand brushes against her own, and she takes it and draws comfort from the simple contact. _I was the Antivan ambassador to Orlais,_ she remembers. _My life has been at risk before_.

After walking for a while, they reach the comte’s residence. The four of them come to a halt.

“Shall we?” Josephine asks after a moment, and then they continue on into the manse, to meet Comte Boisvert and to discover what information he holds.

.

“You aren’t the Comte Boisvert,” Leliana says, only a few minutes after meeting the man. Her eyes are as sharp as Josephine has ever seen. “House of Repose, no?”

“I was a fool to think I could fool the Left Hand of the Divine.” The man – who is not Comte Boisvert, apparently – shrugs and turns to Josephine. “Let me be honest, Lady Montilyet – this situation is highly…unusual. It has rarely been encountered before.”

He is of the House of Repose. He is one of _them_. Josephine clasps her hands together. _Maker, we walked straight into this_. She takes a breath, then releases it slowly. _The House of Repose had my messengers killed, and the documents destroyed._

Cassandra slowly puts down her glass of chilled water. The glass is cracked from the strength of her grip. “So you’re warning us,” Cassandra bites out. “ _Why_?”

“I would also like to know why,” Josephine manages. “The contract is a hundred years old, but it is still a contract. I do not understand – do you warn all of your targets?” _Targets_. She hates that word. _I am a target_ , Josephine thinks.   _And my siblings could be targets. My parents could be targets._

“As I said before, the situation is unusual. We wished to provide some clarity upon the matter.”

“Yes,” says Herah, a dangerous spark in her eyes, “thank you for your _clarity_. How very courteous of you.” She spits the words out, and the fury in her voice is like nothing Josephine has ever heard before. “The Du Paraquettes are _dead_.”

“As a noble house, yes. They still have some descendants that are not amongst the nobility, however.”

 _They could be elevated,_ Josephine thinks quickly. _Then they would have the power – and reason – to have the contract destroyed. A few favours could be garnered to make this possible_.

“And?” Herah’s knuckles are white against the grey skin of her hands. “They aren’t nobles. The contract is a hundred years old. The noble family of Du Paraquette is no more. How is the contract still in effect?”

“A contract is a contract,” Josephine tells Herah, “no matter its age. To disregard it would be most damaging to the business of the House of Repose.”

“But of course,” Leliana says, with a flinty smile. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“Indeed,” says the assassin, and he _smiles_ at them. Herah tenses, and Josephine hopes that her lover will not leap over the table and murder him. _Perhaps if she could wipe that smile off his face_. She pushes that thought away with some irritation. “But, as the Inquisitor put it, this was a _courtesy_.” He stands. “Lady Montilyet, I trust that you will be able to find the Du Paraquette descendants. Perhaps something could be worked out with them.” The assassin bows. “All the best, Lady Montilyet.”

“Wait.” Then Herah stands before him, staring down at the assassin with visible anger. “I didn’t say you could go.”

“Will you kill me, Inquisitor? It will not change anything.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cassandra says, then she stands too, one hand upon the pommel of her sword.

“Let him go,” Leliana tells them. And so the assassin leaves, and the four of them are left in silence. Leliana leans over and places a hand upon Josephine’s arm. “Josie, it’s going to be alright.”

“I have a plan,” Josephine murmurs, her mind working quickly. “I will have the descendants of the Du Paraquettes elevated to nobility, then they will have the contract annulled. It will take some doing, but it is nothing I cannot achieve.”

Leliana sighs and shakes her head. “Josie, it’s _so_ like you to take the longest course of action, even when your life is at stake.”

“Do you suggest something else, then?” Josephine asks sharply. Then she sighs. “Leliana, I am sorry, but an assassin’s plot? This should _never_ have happened. I shouldn’t have let it slip past me.”

“Worry not,” Herah says, turning towards her. She kneels before Josephine and places one hand on Josephine’s knee. “It is not your fault. You could not have known that this would occur.”

“Still….”

“Can you see into the future?” Herah’s lips twitch. “None of us can. It is _not_ your fault. No one could ever think that of you.” Then her eyes are upon Leliana’s, and Herah looks expectant. “I believe you have a plan?”

“I will say no more here. Let us go to my house. We shall speak more of it there.”

.

After that, Leliana takes them to her house in Val Royeaux. “You will be far safer here than anywhere else,” the spymaster says, heading into the small library. Josephine and the others follow her. “Cassandra, I have two agents here now, and another three are on their way.” She lights a lantern that sits upon a nearby table. “Here they are.”

An elf and a dwarf step into the library. “Nightingale,” they chorus, saluting sharply.

“Hostler,” Leliana introduces, indicating the female elf, “and Sentry.” The latter of the two is the male dwarf, who gives them a crooked smile. “They will be watching over you tonight, Cassandra.” She steps over to a nearby bookcase.

Cassandra folds her arms. “Why are you telling _me_ this?”

“Because,” Leliana says, grabbing one book by its spine and pulling it out partially, “you are staying here with Josephine.”

“You still haven’t told me what your plan is,” Josephine reminds, though she has a fair idea. _Violence. Will she go after the assassins?_

“We shall break into the vaults of the House of Repose and destroy the contract,” Leliana tells them. “That is my plan.”

 _Or there’s that_.

Herah nods seriously. “You know where the vaults are?”

“Of course I do,” Leliana says. “I’ve been there before. So Herah and I will go, and Cassandra will remain with Josephine here. It is very possible that assassins could strike tonight, which is why I called for three more agents.”

Cassandra looks taken aback, then her eyebrows draw together. “I’m not staying while you go and—”

“You are not coming with us. This is an undertaking that requires a great deal of stealth and subtlety. You will stay here with Josephine. Understood?”

Josephine expects Cassandra to argue, but the Seeker just scowls. “Fine,” she mutters.

“Oh, and make sure you feed Boulette less than Schmooples II—”

“I’m not feeding them! They _hate_ me! They sit and stare at me for hours open end, and when I try to pat them they _bite_ me.” This, apparently, is an old argument, judging by the way Leliana rolls her eyes.

“Just feed them,” the spymaster says, and then grabs another book by its spine and slides it out. A _thunk_ , and the bookcase swings forwards to reveal a dark archway. Leliana grabs the lantern and waves Herah over.

“My personal armoury,” Leliana tells the Inquisitor. Josephine catches sight of the room beyond. A vast amount of weapons are held within: longswords and shortswords, various types of daggers and knives, and dozens of other weapons. _So many knives. Of course she has so many knives and swords and daggers. This is Leliana._

“Oh,” Herah says, somewhat envious despite her grim mood, “how wonderful.”

“Before you go arming yourselves,” Josephine begins, “Herah – can I speak to you in private?”

“Of course. Excuse us.”

They make their way out into the hallway. Herah takes Josephine’s hands and squeezes them gently. “I know you need to tell me something.”

“I just….” Josephine sighs. “Is this really necessary? Breaking into the vaults of the House of Repose?”

“ _Yes_ , Josephine – they are _assassins_. Assassins contracted to kill _you_. And this is the quickest way to end this.”

“You could be hurt!” Josephine bursts out.

“Oh, Josephine,” Herah says, holding Josephine’s hands ever-so-carefully, “if they harm you in any way, I could never forgive myself. Any scratch they give me pales in comparison to the mere thought of them hurting you. This is the House of Repose. A league of assassins!”

“My plan will _work,_ Herah.”

“Yes, it will,” Herah agrees, “because it is your plan – but it will take time, Josephine. What if they sent assassins tomorrow? What if they are sending them _now_?” Herah’s grip tightens a fraction. “We must act,” she says fiercely, “and we must act now. We don’t have time. We can’t risk your life. If our positions were reversed, you would do the same.”

And that hits home. If it was Herah’s life at risk, Josephine would opt for the quickest course of action. “Alright,” she says finally. “Just…the two of you…be safe.”

“We won’t give them the satisfaction of hurting us – or hurting you,” Herah declares. She raises Josephine’s left hand to her lips, and kisses the ambassador’s knuckles. “That, I promise.”

.

Hours later, and Leliana and Herah are clad in black leathers, complete with dark cowls and scarves. “We’ll enter the tunnels here,” Leliana says, gesturing to a point on the map, which is spread out across a mahogany table. “Then we shall make our way to the vault, do what needs to be done, and exit by a different route.”

“Very good,” Herah says. Leliana had cut holes in the Inquisitor’s cowl to allow for her horns. “What time do you expect we shall be back?”

“Two hours after midnight at latest.” Leliana straightens up. “Are you ready?”

“I am ready.”

Cassandra sighs from near the fireplace. “Be careful, please.”

“I will,” Leliana says.

“Watch your neck.”

“Don’t wait up.” Leliana smirks at the Seeker. The words seem to have some sort of significance for the two of them. Then she looks to Herah. “Let us depart.”

Josephine kisses Herah, and then the two of them are gone, slipping out of the house quietly. “I will endeavour to be good company,” Cassandra says, stepping over to Josephine and laying a hand upon her shoulder. “And I will try not to sulk too much.”

“You are very good at sulking,” Josephine points out.

“So everyone tells me,” Cassandra mutters. “Come. I must feed the nugs, and they may attack me. I will require your help.”

“They can’t be that bad, surely.”

“They are the spawn of absolute evil. Why else would Leliana have them?”

.

After feeding the nugs, Cassandra is moody, so she makes one of Leliana’s agents prepare them some food. “I saw some duck glazed with honey. We will have that,” she orders. “As well as the buttered green beans and the roasted potatoes in honey. Fresh bread - crusty. Fried mushrooms. And I saw some lemon custard tartlets in the kitchen. We shall have those.”

“Perhaps a light vegetable soup?” suggests the agent. This one is called Sapper, and he too is a victim of Boulette and Schmooples II. “I have heard it is good for the constitution.”

Cassandra makes a noise of disgust. “You can have your _light vegetable soup_ ,” she snaps, “but I want something hearty. Josephine, what will you eat?”

“Whatever you are having will suffice. I would like some wine.”

“The Nightingale has the most remarkable collection in her cellars. You may take what you wish from there. I will have Hostler escort you down.”

“I’m right here,” says Hostler. “Go and make some food, boy.”

“Yes _ma’am_.” Sapper salutes crisply, turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen.  With Hostler leading them, Josephine and Cassandra make their way down into Leliana’s frightfully well-stocked wine cellar.

“What would you have done?” Josephine asks while they are browsing through the racks.

“Killed the man pretending to be Boisvert,” Cassandra says bluntly, “and gone after the House of Repose. But I am rash and not _subtle_ , as Leliana so loves to remind me.” She pulls out an Orlesian vintage and scowls at the bottle. “Her plan is good. Yours would have worked, no doubt, but we cannot risk assassins.”

“That is exactly what Herah said.”

“She is a woman of sense,” Cassandra says, “and she cares for you dearly.”

“I did not ever expect that I would come to care for her so much,” Josephine admits. “I fell for her so quickly!”

Cassandra smiles a rare smile. “And she fell for you. I am glad you two have each other. Ugh. I sound like Leliana.”

“Do you worry for Leliana?”

“Of course I worry for Leliana. You know how she is – always bottling up her emotions and never talking about them. Since Justinia…it has been hard for her. And I am glad you are with the Inquisition. You two are close, and it does her good.”

“You are close with her too,” Josephine points out.

“We were brought together by a common cause, and that was serving Justinia. We were not friends at first. She kept _pranking_ me.” Cassandra scoffs. “But she was very good at her job, and I respected her immensely. That led to our friendship.” She draws out a bottle and considers it. “What say you to this Nevarran vintage?”

.

A little after midnight, Leliana and Herah return. They both smell of smoke and something akin to sewer water, and they are both quite cheerful.

“Is the contract gone?” Cassandra demands as soon as she sees them.

“What contract?” asks Leliana, scooping Schmooples II off the floor and into her arms. She winks at Josephine.  “The House of Repose holds no contract pertaining to House Montilyet and their trading activities.”

“None at all,” says Herah, her face rather grimy. She smiles at Josephine. “It’s over.”

 _Thank goodness._ It is though a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders. “Maker,” Josephine says, and throws her arms about Herah’s neck. “I am so glad that you are alright. You _are_ alright, yes? No injuries?”

“I am fine.”

“Good,” Josephine breathes out and presses her face into Herah’s neck. “Good.”

“I stink, though.”

“I hardly care.” Josephine finds herself laughing. “You did it! Oh, my darling – and Leliana, of course – thank you so much.”

Leliana shakes her head. “You need not thank us, Josephine. I am just glad you are safe and this is over. Oh, and Herah has something for you….”

“Look,” Herah says, reaching down to her belt and producing a parcel. “I found this.”

The object is hard and heavy, so it is likely to be made of metal. Josephine unwraps it carefully, and gasps at what she uncovers.

It is the old seal of House Montilyet.

“Where did you find this?”

“To reach the vault of the House of Repose, we had to enter the old tunnels beneath the city, as you know. We left the vaults by a different route in the tunnels, one that ended in the cellar of one of those fancy shops in the market district. I saw this sitting upon a shelf, and I knew immediately that this was the seal you had spoken of some time ago.”

Josephine glances back up at Herah. “Did you…did you _steal_ this?”

“I left some money behind,” Herah assures. “Leliana did all of the stealing.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at the spymaster. “You _stole_? From the shops?”

“No, silly, from the vaults of the House of Repose. Some jewellery and gems. And I garnered some very interesting information from some other contracts. Cassandra, did you know that Lucian Pentaghast has a contract upon his head?”

“It does not surprise me,” Cassandra mutters. “He’s not even a _real_ Pentaghast.”

Leliana laughs. “A fake one, then?”

“Do not tease me so. You know what I mean. Lucian is barely a Pentaghast. He is…oh, at least two hundred places away from the throne.”

“Yes,” Leliana says, lips curving into a smirk, “seventy-eighth is much closer. Do you feel very superior?

“Ugh,” Cassandra mutters, “do you ever stop?” But then the Seeker is smiling. “I am glad it is done,” she says. 

“As am I.” Josephine leans into Herah’s side, and feels more at ease than she has in weeks. She takes a breath and exhales slowly. “Thank you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Femslash February! I've already posted one work for it so far - a Cassandra/Vivienne oneshot called Kisses. I'm hoping to post more before the end of this month. So keep an eye out!
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments - over 332 kudos now, that's amazing. I never expected anything like this and it really, really is amazing. Thank you all so much. <3

.

The next day a letter is received through rather unusual means – it is addressed to Josephine and left at Comte Boisvert’s residence. Comte Boisvert – the _real_ Boisvert, that is – somehow contacts Leliana, who sends one of her agents to retrieve the letter. They are in the library when Hostler returns.

“I will be opening this,” Leliana says, plucking the letter from Hostler’s hand. “See the seal? House of Repose. Josephine?”

Josephine, sitting upon the chaise, nods. “Go ahead.”

“Whatever do they want?” Cassandra wonders, leaning over the back of Leliana’s armchair. Herah looks curious, and she reaches over to take Josephine’s hands.

Leliana opens the letter and examines it carefully. Then, when she is satisfied, she reads it quickly, before summarising its contents.

“The House of Repose wishes to inform you that there is no longer a contract regarding your family,” says the spymaster, her eyes gleaming. “How nice of them. This is something of a formality, I believe. As there is no longer a contract, House Montilyet will no longer have to fear their assassins. They also wish you the best.”

“Nice of them,” Herah notes. She squeezes Josephine’s hands lightly. “It’s officially over, then.”

“Yes,” Josephine says, with a relieved smile, “it is.”

.

Cassandra has caught wind of another Seeker in Val Royeaux – he too left the order, it seems – and so she goes to track down this man. Leliana has business of her own to attend to, so Herah and Josephine decide to go out for the day. They have lunch at Le Masque du Lion, where the food is just as good as Josephine remembers. Herah is delighted by the menu, and orders no less than three different desert dishes.

They draw a good deal of attention from other patrons of the café. Josephine wears a dark blue dress cut in the latest fashion, while Herah is dressed in black breeches, a white shirt and a dark blue overcoat to match Josephine’s dress. They make a striking pair, and they do not hide their affections. Because of this they draw a great deal of attention from the patrons of Le Masque du Lion, though none approach them.

“People will gossip,” Herah notes while feeding Josephine a chocolate. “But I suppose if they cause too much trouble, we can set Leliana and Cassandra upon them.”

Josephine chews the chocolate then swallows. “Everyone would _die_ ,” she murmurs. “Or be brutally injured.”

“Exactly,” replies Herah, with a wicked grin. “Another chocolate, my darling?”

“I think that it is your turn.” Josephine selects a chocolate artfully shaped like a rosebud and offers it to Herah, biting her lip when Herah’s teeth gently graze her fingers. “Tease,” she whispers.

Herah winks, then insists on feeding Josephine more chocolate.

After their lunch, they wander to a secluded courtyard by the reservoir, where they sit on a bench and enjoy the view.

It is here that she tells Herah something she has not told her lover yet, a dark fragment of her past. Josephine says, “I was a bard,” and waits for Herah’s reaction, waits for wide eyes and a gasp and _you hid this from me_ ; but Herah wraps her arms around Josephine and holds her close, presses her lips to the crown of Josephine’s head, brushes her thumb over the nape of Josephine’s neck. And Herah listens, her heart beating slow and rhythmic beneath where Josephine’s ear is pressed to her chest.

Josephine tells her everything. She speaks of the scuffle at her patron’s estate, where the other bard had drawn a knife that had gleamed so wickedly in the torchlight. She speaks of how she had pushed him away, how he had tumbled down the stairs before coming to rest, never to move again.

“He was dead.” She takes a breath, remembering it even now. “And when I removed his mask…I knew him. We had attended parties together.”

“Oh, Josephine,” Herah murmurs, “I am so sorry.”

“As am I,” Josephine says. And she speaks again, the words falling heavy and regretful from her lips.

Herah is quiet and attentive during this time, and when Josephine is done, she kisses the ambassador upon the cheek. “Thank you for telling me,” she says quietly. “I know that it was hard.”

“It always is – but telling you? It seemed easier than it has been when telling others.”

She marvels, then, at how close they have grown in such a short amount of time. It has only been a few months and the world is in chaos, but Josephine cares for Herah in a way she has not cared for anyone before. And Herah – Herah gazes at Josephine like she is the sun itself.

“Thank you,” Josephine says quietly. “For listening. For what you did for House Montilyet. Thank you.”

“I would do it again in a heartbeat,” Herah tells her. “You deserve no less.”

.

They return to Leliana’s house to find the Hands of the Divine arguing loudly. “No,” Cassandra is saying firmly, “ _I_ am right.”

“Oh, because you’re always right, aren’t you?” returns Leliana scathingly. “Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, all-knowing and superior to all others!”

Cassandra frowns at the redhead. “Well – no, I’m not—”

“ _Ha_! Exactly!” Leliana folds her arms and then spots Herah and Josephine attempting to slink past the library. “Josie, Herah! Come in here and settle this, if you will.”

“Lovers’ quarrel,” mutters Herah, rolling her eyes.

“They aren’t lovers – _yet_. Don’t let them hear you say it, either,” Josephine warns quietly.

“Get in here and stop muttering,” Cassandra snaps.

Herah and Josephine step into the library carefully. None of Leliana’s agents seem to be around. Perhaps they are avoiding the conflict. _How lucky of them_ , Josephine thinks.

“What is the matter?” she inquires diplomatically, noting the stiffness of Cassandra's jaw, the sharpness of Leliana's eyes.

“Cassandra,” says Leliana, narrowing her eyes, “refuses to admit that Orlesian wine is better than Nevarran wine.”

 _Oh, thank the Maker. I thought they were arguing about something serious._ Herah looks quite amused by this.

“Because it _isn’t_ ,” Cassandra says, clearly exasperated. “You Orlesians go on and on about your _subtleties_ and you can barely taste them! And you put _deep mushroom_ in your wine. Who does that?”

“I don’t like the deep mushroom either! But _Nevarrans_ barely understand what vintage means!”

“We do so!” Cassandra argues. “Inquisitor – please, tell her she is wrong.”

“You’re both wrong,” Herah tells them, grinning. “Antivan wine is by far the best.”

“Quite right,” Josephine agrees, leaning into Herah’s side.

“Bias,” Cassandra announces, scoffing. “Absolute bias. All of you are wrong.”  She spots Boulette lurking near Leliana’s feet and scowls. “Don’t you even _dare_ ,” she warns, while Boulette eyes her and gives a menacing squeak. 

.

Leliana will not bring her nugs to Skyhold and Cassandra is indeed pleased by this. “While I dislike the majority of our guests,” the Seeker tells Josephine on the ride back to Skyhold, “I would not wish for those nasty little creatures to attack them.”

“We’ve seen wild nugs before,” Herah protests. “They are skittish creatures, and not at all bloodthirsty.”

“They were _wild_ nugs,” Cassandra hisses. “Leliana has _bred_ her pets to be as volatile and dangerous as possible. One of them once tried to eat a man’s face. And I do not mean a little bite upon the cheek. No, it literally tried to _eat_ his face.”

“That’s disgusting,” Herah says, her eyes widening. “Please tell me you don’t want one, Josephine.”

“ _Josephine_ ,” says Leliana over her shoulder, with a smirk, “wanted a mabari in her youth. Isn’t that right?”

Josephine rolls her eyes. _Trust Leliana to bring up embarrassing memories of my youth._ “Stop,” she pleads.

Leliana, as usual, is merciless. “And when,” Leliana continues, “she found out that those who are partnered with mabari wear kaddis – that awful, pungent body-paint – she was most horrified and upset, and she was miserable for a week.”

 _It was longer_ , Josephine remembers, but she does not say this.

“But you only wear the kaddis in battle,” Cassandra interjects.

“She didn’t know that,” Leliana says. “She thought you had to wear it all the time. And she wasn’t going to, you know, so she quickly gave up on her dream of having a glorious Fereldan war hound.”

“They are most intelligent creatures,” Josephine tells Herah. “Well-tempered – and they have the sweetest eyes!”

“I think that would be you, actually,” Herah muses aloud.

“Oh, stop that,” Josephine laughs. “So charming.”

.

After days of riding, Skyhold is finally in the distance, its tall walls and towers welcoming. _I never thought I could miss a fortified castle so much_ , Josephine thinks, considering Skyhold with a smile.

“Race you, Cassandra,” Leliana says abruptly, a challenging glint in her eyes.

“What?” says Cassandra, but Leliana’s mare is already surging forwards. The spymaster throws an insult over her shoulder and Cassandra’s eyes narrow, lips pulling into a smirk. “So be it,” Cassandra says, her stallion taking off in hot pursuit.

“As soon as they ride through Skyhold’s gates they will become terribly serious once more,” Herah muses. “Appearances, after all.”

Ahead, Leliana lets Cassandra’s stallion catch up to her mare. They trade words before Leliana leans forwards, urging her mare on. The gap between them lengthens quite quickly. Cassandra’s words drift back to their ears. “Not _fair_ ,” the Seeker complains.

Josephine laughs. “And you will continue to play your pranks with Sera, no?”

“Of course. We’ve got this marvellous one planned for Bull – I want to tell you, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“As long as our guests don’t see him unclothed again – though some of them were quite impressed, I might add.”

“Yes. That bann – Lonn, yes? He is a great admirer of the Bull. In more ways than one.”

“An apt way of putting it,” Josephine notes.

Their horses come to a halt. They stare at Skyhold, at the Inquisition banners snapping in the wind, at the soldiers patrolling the walls. “We will sleep well tonight,” Herah says wistfully, “after days of sleeping on bedrolls, and those awful mattresses at the inns.”

“And we will have a hot bath,” Josephine marvels. “Together.”

“You are a tease,” murmurs the Inquisitor, gazing at her with fond eyes.

She feels it, then – that warmth in her heart, the quickening of her blood and that _spark_ between them. There is more between them now, though, than there was when they first met.

And Josephine voices it for the first time.

“Herah,” she says, reaching over to place one hand upon the Inquisitor’s cheek, “I love you.”

Herah’s lips curve into a soft, loving smile. “Josephine,” she breathes, her eyes bright, her hand moving up to cover Josephine’s. “Oh, Josephine, truly?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Josephine tells her, suddenly fervent, “I do.”

“And I love you,” Herah says. “I love every part of you with every fibre of my being.” She turns her head and presses her lips to Josephine’s palm. “Maker,” she says, her lips shaping the words against Josephine’s skin, “I love you.”

Josephine guides her mare closer. “Come here,” she murmurs, pulling Herah into a kiss. The Inquisitor makes a surprised sound, then one of pleasure. She tangles one hand in Josephine’s hair and kisses her soundly, seeming to delight in the gasp she draws from Josephine, who in return nips at Herah’s lower lip. And then—

Herah’s horse abruptly shies away and they are falling from their saddles. Josephine yelps in surprise and Herah curses, managing to twist so that Josephine lands on top of her. They lay in the snow, the two of them quite startled, and then Herah begins to laugh breathlessly. She holds Josephine close and continues to laugh, her entire body shaking.

Then, with some concern, she lifts her head and looks at Josephine, asking, “Are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Josephine assures, beginning to smile. “Are you hurt?”

“Hardly,” Herah declares.

Josephine moves so that she straddles Herah’s hips. “Then let us continue,” she suggests, trailing a finger down Herah’s neck and delighting in the look she receives.

Herah reaches up and draws her down into another kiss, this one decidedly more passionate than the previous ones they shared while on horseback. The horses snort and move away, clearly not impressed by this behaviour. “I love you,” Josephine breathes into the kiss.

“And I love—”

“By the Maker,” comes a voice. Cassandra. “Leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re rolling around in the snow like young lovers. Such a fantastic example you set. Imagine if someone saw you! Leliana, do you see this?”

Leliana, sitting astride her pale mare, looks down at them and smirks. “I see,” she says.

Josephine groans. “Come,” she says, getting to her feet, “I’m sure that we will be able to have some _privacy_ back at Skyhold.”

“I should hope so,” Herah murmurs. She stands with her familiar grace, pressing a kiss to Josephine’s cheek. Then, said just for the two of them, she whispers, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the nerds finally said "I love you".


End file.
